


Sisters of the Nettle Hill

by vrisadefer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi, Nuns, Occult, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:24:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrisadefer/pseuds/vrisadefer
Summary: we’ve grown tired of church’s persecution, it’s been so long. we are humble now, calm, we apologise. we start a convent full of holy women commited to prayer, confined within the old walls of a castle, waking up to sunrise in the orchard. the clergy believes, full of respect for the change in our hearts. young girls forced into nunnery by their god-fearing parents arrive trembling at the gates.no outsiders are allowed within the convent - it is holy and we vowed at the stone altar after all - and so they cannot see the books we read, the dances we give into, they cannot hear the knowledge we whisper and the songs we tempt the old ones with. they cannot witness the pilgrimages into the forest dark and tender, thorn-filled midnight masses. we are the saints and the cursed, our hands chalices and our voices the sacred hymns.





	1. Goodnight, my sweet daughter.

_Nettle, birch branch, blackthorn leaves. Cuckoo's feathers, mountain clay. Ash bark, dapperling cap. Sever thorns and seven stones-_

 

Suddenly something cracked – a twig stepped on, perhaps – and this sound at last made her realise she was not alone on the forest path, and another set of ears could have heard the song she muttered under her breath. She did not turn around.

\- Go away. - she said, even though she did not know for sure to whom, only that it was a person. An animal, no matter which, would never be able to sneak up on her, forest or steppe, meadow or mountain. And she heard a rustle, and shifting, and a creature ran way, hurried as if scared.

\- Children. - she said to herself. No man could sneak up on her, either. But children could. She was a child herself not that long ago, only a couple springs have passed since she wore more skirts than had bruises on her elbows and knees from playing in the valley. And yet.

 

She did not like thinking about her age – such a tiresome subject it seemed to her, and so often started by Mother. "You will never marry." Mother would say "You can cut that braid off. No use for fair hair, no use at all. No man shall ever want you." And then, again, on a different day: "Go out, youth is having a fire tonight. Pinch your cheeks to give them blush, smile at boys! You are young and fair, you should be married already! And with child!"

But the latter did not last long, not if Mother could help it. Bitter days outnumbered the sweet ones, and Mother's words followed. Chests father kept for dowry remained empty, and dust covered the locks.

More often, yet, Mother spoke of marriage as a shield, a safety dearer than walls, than chainmail - than God.

"What will they think of you, unmarried?" Mother would ask "That you are ill? That you have no love in your heart? Or that you sleep with the devil!"

And she would go on to ramble about the last Sunday's mass, and how the priest talked of women – how they are easily tempted, how weak of spirit, and that they shall find their power only in prayer and in husband.

\- In one hand rosary, and in the other... - said the girl to herself, and giggled. What nonsense, all that. And women, easier to tempt than men? - Go to the inn, smile and twirl. No one on this earth easier to tempt than men. - she said to herself again, and kept a steady pace as the day was ending and she wanted to be home by supper.

 

When she got home, all the hens were back in the coop and the dog was spread out, content, in front of the barn, clearly fed already. She sighed, knowing what it meant, and braced herself before she passed the treshold of their home.

\- Do not take another step. - she heard Mother's voice, stern and cold.

\- I got lost in the forest.

\- You never get lost in the forest, you lying child.

\- Not a child anymore, Mother.

\- Ha! You say that and yet you behave like a little girl, while all the others are having babes of their own. - the woman hissed.

\- Mo-

\- No, go outside, sleep in the barn with the dog. I will not harbour blasphemy under my roof. Witchcraft. - she spat.

\- Blasphemy?

\- I am happy your father did not live to see this. - Mother said, and turned around to face the wall, not looking at the girl anymore. - They will come for you, soon. I warned you.

\- Who?

\- Who, who, you stupid child! You live with no husband, you spend entire days in the forest, you mutter spells to yourself, you hide bones and furs under the bed! Yes, I have seen them! I should have gone to the parish myself but the stupid mother's heart did not allow me to condemn my only child to the stake. But they will come for you, and there is no running from it.

 

The girl just stood there, frozen. No words would come, no thoughts even. The air was still, and it smelled like home – butter and bread, and geese-feather pillows.

 

\- Go sleep in the barn. - Mother said, her voice suddenty weaker, faint. - Goodnight, my sweet daughter.

 

_Nettle, birch branch, blackthorn leaves. Roe deer's antlers, cinders gray. Dog's bark, oleander sap._

 

She did not sleep that night. She did not weep. She did not pray. She did not curse, nor swear, nor speak at all.

She sat and petted the dog until both of them fell asleep in the hay.

 

The morning came, sweet as dew which spring has generously blessed the hills with. And with the morning the priests came – two of them, the old parish priest and the young one they sent in a year ago or so. And two other men with them, for good measure, to hold the wicked girl and drag her to the church, where she would be judged before Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and then, as teachings go, burned at the stake.

They opened the barn's door with a loud noise, and sun danced on the straw-strewn floor. The dog got up and started barking louder than ever, teeth bared and every muscle ready to jump.

And the girl, with one quick move, covered herself with her shawl.

\- You must not look at me! - she yelled. - You must not speak to me!

\- You hate God so much, you wretched thing? - said the parish in a loud and pompous voice, one she knew all too well from his Sunday ramblings.

\- Oh, lord and saviour bless you soul, no! - she wailed. - You are men of God, no? Please, listen to me!

 

The men froze, unsure.

\- You are men of God, you are pure of soul and intention... You, you alone I can tell. - she whimpered, and her lips started trembling just so, and she took a deep breath. - But please do not look at me.

It was not easy for them not to look, especially the young one. She was a sweet girl, sleep-adorned still, messy in the hay. Blush on her cheeks, tears in her eyes.

\- That is the devil speaking. - the parish priest said. - Do not let him fool you.

 

And the girl crossed herself, with enough conviction you would think her life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

\- No, I swear... I have lived in poverty, father, I have lived in humility. I have taken no husband, I have tempted no man. I have not danced nor drank, I have not adorned myself in ribbons. I have looked at no man. - she whispered. - Not since she showed herself to me.

\- _She?_ \- the priest asked.

\- The Good Lady of the hills. - she said, even quieter this time. - The Good Lady in white.

\- The Good- girl, what are you talking about?

\- Two springs ago, father, I have walked the path above the church, near the old castle, where the spring dances around the rocks. I have strayed from the mass, I know, and I know I sinned, and I am so, so sorry-

\- Speak, child!

\- And as I walked, I saw a beautiful lady fair, standing upon the hill of nettles. And she spoke to me with the voice as soft as dawn. She told me that I am a foolish child but I can still repent. Take no man, she told me, kiss no boy. Devote your heart to me, and through yours I shall save the hearts of all the women, weak in faith and devotion. You vow to me and through your prayer we shall ward off the Snake, the liar above liars. - she said, breathing heavy. - Father, I have been praying ever since. I have knelt in the nettles every day, and every day I have walked to the hill, and I have lied there, cross, on the ground, on the rocks.

\- Has she come to you ever again..? - the old priest asked, hesistant. But there was something to this girl, something that surely could not come from the devil. Something pure, something sweet-

 - Only once, father. - she said, still covering most of her face with the shawl, her hands shaking. - She moved her pale hand, and said, in the name of my Son you shall pray here everyday, you and other women, and through this you shall bring your sisters closer to the paradise. And I have prayed every day since, I have knelt, in the stinging nettles, every day-

\- Shush, child. - the old priest said. - Stay here. You, tell her mother she is to stay here until we come back. You can lock the barn.

The girl said nothing.

\- I shall go, fast as I can, to the bishop. He must hear about this and decide whether... Hurry. Bring me my horse.

 

_Nettle, birch branch, blackthorn leaves. Belladonna, three stray cats. Moss and stone, mist so cold, stifled moan and castle old..._

 

And another spring has barely come to pass when the girl, now clad in black, awaited in the castle upon the hill to take her vows. Good Lady told her so, and the bishop was overwhelmed by the miracle, overjoyed by the divine intervention. He ordered a new convent to be founded, right there where She has shown herself to the girl.

And the girl would be the first to take the vows, to devote herself to the life of prayer and humility, hard work and faithful devotion.

 

Or maybe that was not exactly the case. Who knows?

 


	2. Blessed, indeed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The parish priest and the bishop arrive to meet the girl on the nettle hill and welcome her to her new holy home. Everyone is overjoyed.

The snow was melting and waking up streams in the hills, and running through meadows, and turning into deep mud on the paths and roads. The bishop and the parish priest were sitting in the carriage in complete silence.

\- It is truly a miracle. - said the parish priest to break the silence, but his voice was slightly bitter.

\- It is. It is. - replied the bishop.

\- It's-

\- I mean, the official statement of the church is not yet… Available. - said the bishop. - I have sent word to the archbishop about the new convent and the blessed visions.

\- I see.

\- But it is in my power to institute the new convent.

\- I see. - said the old parish priest.

\- I do have authority over that. - said the bishop, quite older than the already quite old priest. - Archbishop Stanislaus is really busy now that the King has- now that he is- Well, now that the King is so busy too.

\- I see.

 

Silence fell again. The bishop seemed conflicted - he did not like little villages and mud. He did not like having to converse with parish priests. He did not like having to repeat over and over again that he truly does have the authority. He did not like being unsure whether this whole idea will not be soon disapproved by the Pope himself. 

But he very much liked the idea of being the bishop to institute the first convent on this land. First! And after miraculous visions of the Virgin Mary no less! And for women, which was frankly quite the trend already in Italy and provinces, and he was absolutely proud that he was able to bring that holy trend here.

Perhaps he'd even get to choose the habits of the nuns! Their names! Their prayers! The ways in which they would be allowed to wear their hair, to whom they would be allowed to speak and when, what they would-

\- When will we know for sure? - Asked the priest.

\- Hm?

\- That it's fully allowed. Approved by the Pope himself.

\- Well, I should hear back from him before the snows melts there, o, on the peaks of the mountains! - the bishop said and chuckled.

 

The priest was conflicted, too. On one hand, he never wanted to ever doubt the Church's authority. He always wanted to take part in a miracle, or at least help to make one known.

But he really did not like that girl, and a great part of him did not believe her story. Another part of him was mad that he even went to the bishop. 

He also really really did not like people meddling in his business, even bishops. 

Or perhaps especially bishops, and such plump red-cheeked bishops who did not know that the snow will not melt from the mountain peaks well into July.

  
  


The girl was patient. She waited on the nettle hill since the sun rose; well, perhaps an hour or two later, who could blame her, such early spring was still chilly and the absolute opposite of her bed, even if it was in the barn. But she waited and waited, and even waded in the nettles for a moment to have proof of her faithful devotion and careful prayer in the name of all the women. The women, cursed, weak, unable to reach paradise on their own, yes, of course, she thought, how convenient, how pleasant. 

And she didn’t mind the nettles - the old belief was that they brought luck, and good health. She has made many useful things out of them, too.  They were good and useful plants. Useful… ingredients.

Finally the carriage has arrived. The parish priest got out first, dressed in his black chemise and trousers, profoundly unhappy to see her, and then helped - just as unhappy because of it - the Bishop to get out. The bishop was dressed in pompous red with a silly hat on, and was profoundly unhappy to see all the mud that awaited his shiny shoes outside of the carriage.

The girl dressed herself way more humbly and modestly than usual, making sure to cover a lot of her skin - a story cannot be believed without enough props and devotion, after all - and showing off only enough of her legs for the men to see the nettle stings.

\- _Laudetur Jesus Christus!_ \- sang the bishop with sudden joy, seeing the girl. Blessed girl, after all, one that allowed him to be the first to institute a convent there-

\- _Et Maria Immaculata._ \- replied the girl quietly, looking humbly at her feet.

The parish priest wanted to oppose, to say that this is no way to reply, in saecula saeculorum, amen, no? Why Mary, now? But the bishop seemed absolutely overjoyed with the reply.

\- Immaculate, indeed! Innocent and pure, the one chosen by God! - sang the bishop again and made the sign of the cross. - Is this the hill?

\- The very hill, your grace. - the girl said.

\- Oh, oh my- It is _“your excellence,”_ girl, _"grace"_ is the title reserved for the Archbishop himself. - he replied, but suddenly there was something new to him, as if he stood a bit taller than before.

\- I apologise. - she said quickly. - I am just a simple girl. I did not know.

 

She knew, of course.

 

 

 

The three of them walked towards the old castle on the hill - the priest on the path, unbothered by mud; the bishop trying to step on the stones and on the grass to avoid the dirt, and the girl just next to the path, through the nettles.

\- Oh, child, this must hurt terribly! - the bishop said, clasping his hands together. - We are men of faith and piety, you can safely walk beside us.

\- I know, your excellence, but the Good Lady told me it is through this stinging pain that my faith will grow. - she said.

\- Commendable! Commendable! - said the bishop, nodding his head. - Is it not?

\- Commendable indeed. - replied the parish priest bitterly. - And necessary, I’m sure.

 

\- Here we are! - exclaimed the old plump man suddenly. - What a beauty!

 

The castle was indeed beautiful, not yet in ruin - other than the west wing, which was open for winds and snows and the cracks in its walls filled with grass and vines. It used to belong to someone - people in the village cared little to whom, it was so long ago and anything worth taking from the castle was already gone - but then stood abandoned for nearly four decades. It was officially King’s land, but he himself did not care for it, other than occasionally whip a villager or two for going hunting in the nearby forest.

 

\- I’ve had the boys from our village come and make sure the east wing is safe to stay in. - the parish priest spoke. - It had to wait until spring, winter would be too difficult there. It’s not easy to heat all that space up, and the west wing is windy. It can put out the fire in furnaces.

\- Unpleasant! - interrupted the bishop.

\- Yes, unpleasant. - continued the priest. - The quarters are in good condition, so is the kitchen, and the room next to it. We can set up the altar for Mary there, once we have… The Pope’s decision. The hall still has some rubble and I will have to make sure someone comes before the rains start to fix the rest of the roof above it. There are some mice in the basement, and the east tower has-

\- Yes, yes. - said the bishop. - It will be crucial to send someone, yes. It is all very important. Of course we will have to remember to confine the girls to one chamber then, so they do not meet the working men!

\- So they do not- What do you mean, your excellence?

\- Well, the girl told you of her visions first, no? Mary, blessed mother of our Lord Jesus Christ, told her she should not look at men, and men should not look at her. Am I correct, child?

\- Yes. - she replied. She wasn’t fully sure which part of this whole looking thing was the main focus of her… visions, but she nodded humbly, not raising her gaze from the grass.

\- This will be your new home! - said the bishop. - How blessed you are!

\- Blessed indeed. - added the parish priest.

\- You will wear this for now - the bishop handed her a small black bundle. - Once we have all the orders from the Archbishop, you will have a proper habit.

\- And a name? - asked the priest.

\- Oh I have thought of a name for you, yes! I prayed and prayed-

\- The name of the convent, I meant. - the parish priest said but was completely ignored.

\- I think - and I will write this in the letter to the Archbishop - that your name, girl, should be _Inocentia._ For your innocence and purity, for your devotion to your sacred prayer and state. For you will always stay so pure, just like Mary!

\- Inocentia. - repeated the parish priest, nearly through gritted teeth.

 

And praise the gods that the girl was still looking down at her feet, and the men could not see her try and fight off overwhelming laughter.

 


	3. What a silly thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The castle needs cleaning, the songs need singing, and the spring needs... Eggs?

The spring was lonely, and filled with work. Now the girl, for the first time in her life, was fully on her own. No mother, no family, no dog - just her tiny silhouette against the great, looming castle. There was a lot to do - other than going to the hill everyday to pretend to pray in the nettles in case anyone would happen to be looking, of course - and she kept herself busy. It was a good fate, and she was overwhelmed by smug pride - a familiar feeling, and always equally welcome. 

A lot of cleaning had to be done around - straw, dust, rubble, bird droppings - and so the girl fashioned a broom out of the birch and blackthorn branches, and took it upon herself to rid the halls of all the mess, while filling them with song.

As she cleaned, she sang - and old village song that they would sing as children, and repeat as they played, and carry it home to sing to their dogs, and cats, and chickens, and goats. She believed all the village animals knew the song better than anyone else at that point.

 

_ Up on the hill up on the hill _

_ Where spring has sprung and water runs _

_ There lies a grave there lies a grave  _

_ Of seventy seven black-clad nuns  _

 

_ The nuns would fly the nuns would fly _

_ And loudly crow all sweet night long  _

_ And make their nests and make their nests _

_ In treetops filled with funeral song  _

 

She felt as if the walls and halls sang with her - the wind, the dirt, the skies above her head all joined in a low hum, and the old song grew more beautiful with the added ancient voices. The castle was empty, and yet it did not feel so. Then again, how often would it happen that, as she was alone in the woods, she would not feel so? Alone in the field, and yet not? As if there was always something - _someone_ \- next to her, patient, lingering, crying as she cried, singing as she sang, living - as she lived. A child left alone in the hut as the elders went to pray, or work in the field, or mourn - and yet never alone, never scared. Her mother would often come home to hear her giggling and playing, even though she did not have friends, or toys. But she had, since she was born… What? What did she have? Whom?

 

_ The nuns would cry the nuns would cry _

_ With voices loud and strong as night _

_ And foretell death and foretell death _

_ To fill the people's hearts with fright  _

 

Her skirt twirled around her as she was sweeping the halls and chambers - she wore her own clothes still, simple cloth yet embroidered with red and black, by her own hand no less - and her two braids danced around her neck, tied with red ribbons she had for years now. She untied those ribbons from the effigy her village burned to scare away winter when she was just seven or eight springs old - to make sure no one would see her take them, she untied them sneakily as the effigy was burning. Many kids were gathered around to look at the fire, and even though her mother grabbed her hand and dragged her home to scold her for getting too close to the flames, she did not see the ribbons hidden in her tiny fist. Now, for the first time in her life, she could wear the ribbons in her hair and not worry about anything - before, she would tie them only when mother couldn't see, as she would surely take them from her.

 

She wanted to sing another verse and took a deep breath to do so, and only then she realised the air is chilly, and dusk was nearing already. That meant two things: she should start a fire in the furnace in the chamber she was sleeping in, and leave the basket out on the path for the priest's boys to take and fill with food for the upcoming days. She knew the priest did not like her - he would give her half a bread, cheese he did not like, and only those apples that fell from the cart as they were taken from the orchard. She did not mind, really - not like her mother ever gave her cream or sweet buns, really. 

Of course, she was not allowed to talk to the boys, or even look at them - as they were not allowed to even pass the nettles on the hill - and even though she did not care for human company much, she was curious about who it was that the priest was sending. Were they also spying on her? Checking if she's pious and devoted? Maybe it was a punishment for them? Or maybe they were eager to help the parish priest? What were they talking about as they carried the food so early in the cold spring morning? What songs were they singing? Perhaps they tried to pass the nettles? Sneak? See her for themselves? Maybe they would climb the trees to look at her through the empty castle's windows? As she danced? Slept? Bathed? 

 

She giggled, and the halls carried her laughter.

\- What a silly thing. - she said to herself, and went to start a fire in the furnace.

  
  


She never really did get cold, but it would be a terrible shame to fall ill and die when everything was going so well.

And yet the fire was pleasant, and such a lovely company in the darkening evening, and she fell asleep surrounded by soft shadows dancing on the walls, tired after so much work. 

 

When she woke up - later than usual - and went to get the basket, she found it empty.

Or rather, without its usual contents: inside, instead of bread or apples, there were seven spotted eggs.


End file.
